WE ARE AMONG THE H'MONG (63 kms and 1,200m total gain).
OK, so they're mainly Dzau minority people up here, but frankly we're having difficulty at times telling them apart, and your scribe dislikes wasting a good headline. The day starts at 6 am with the squealing of a pig being slaughtered next door to our plain but comfortable digs. After a very different breakfast of crepes topped with sliced banana and slathered with honey, and local, somewhat harsh robusta coffee diluted with evaporated milk, we cycle the short distance back to town to visit the market, always bustling at this early hour. We find Red Dzau women, distinguished by their red hair covers, and H'mong women with their black gaiters. The men are indistinguishable, at least to us.
The it's off up the road and into the fog. Eight of us are riding, the rest in various stages of recuperation in the van. The fog places a shroud of silence over everything as we pedal uphill for the first few kms. Thatched houses loom briefly before being swallowed up again in the gloom. 150-200 cc motorbikes, the chief mode of transport up here in the highlands, are barely audible at times, especially in descent. We see no bicycles; without gearing, they're not much good up here. Vietnam manufactures bicycles (without gearing), so to import a decent bicycle with gears results in a very high import duty. School children walk.
The road goes progressively downhill for the next 20 kms to a small roadside market, then starts to climb again. Women are digging out a level foundation for a house while the men folk
chisel mortises in the structure's huge beams. Everyone works. A mother and daughter barter with a vendor for some finely patterned white silk cloth. A future wedding dress?
The road now is certainly undulating, but maily in one direction: uphill. A young lad leads a weasel on a string, a tiny thing with a raccoon-like face, perhaps 4-5 pounds. How much would he sell it for, I ask Bingh later. He says about $5. Clearly protein sells at a premium up here. A man with his young son is sharpening his brush axe on a quartzite boulder in the ditch, the son pouring water to cool the blade.
The people are much much more reserved here, especially women and children. No more "hello, what your name?" Vietnamese is taught in school but is obviously not their first language. Boys carry sling shots, stones, knives and I feel a litttle vulnerable. However, never do they show evil intent, and let's face it, the boys here hunt all nature of wildlife.
The road now passes well above a few villages, visible in clearings below, as it winds its way to the pass. In spite of their isolation, they appear to be served by schools, distinguished by their concrete construction, red roofs and pale yellow walls.
At about 44 kms we reach the pass, now in sunshine, then it's mainly downhill to Lai Chau on the river. There are two towns, the old and new. Our very nice hotel is between the two. It is, as our notes say, a traditional communist-style hotel, but very comfortable and a huge cut above the state hotel in Son La a few days back. The food is copious and delicious. Bia Ha Noi is served in large bottles and we are content.
Notes to Gp 2: There appear to be a few errors and omissions on the tour notes and map. The village of Sin Ho is at about 1200m elevation, and there is a serious 15 km climb over a pass at about 1700m. Lai Chau is at about 900m elev. Dress warmly. No profile was available on the daily map. Guide Bingh says afterwards that this ride is for "professional cyclists". The road is badly potholed in places, and labelled the "road from Hell" by George riding in the van.
by Chris Hodgson
No comments:
Post a Comment